


Lying on the Moon

by FaultyParagon



Series: RWBY AUs [18]
Category: RWBY
Genre: AI Qrow Branwen, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Clover Ebi, Clover we said talk to someone but not like this, Clover-Ebi centric, Divorce, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love Through Letters, Fluff and Angst, Former Clover/Robyn, Gen, Inspired by Her (2013), Love Letters, M/M, Personal Assistant Qrow, Plot Twists, Relationship(s), Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Sexy See-Through Qrow, a hint of wishbone, fair game, mentioned masturbation, stop making moony eyes at your computer it's weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25902046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Clover Ebi has been living and working alone in his apartment for so long that he’s forgotten what warmth is like; his soon-to-be-ex-wife isn’t helping matters any, either.With his depression and loneliness slowly sapping away his former joy in life, throwing his work habits and heart out of balance, a suggestion from a colleague to buy a personal assistant AI might be just what he needs to get back on his feet.Introducing Polendina Enterprises’ new handy AIOS, with realer speech patterns and a greater aptitude for growth than ever, the new Huntsman's QROW model.-aka Clover learns to live again thanks to his grumpy, gruff, hot AI personal assistant who is far more than what was written on the store page. Slight sci-fi AU, Fair Game with former CloverxRobyn. Inspired by the film, “Her”.
Relationships: Ace Ops & Clover Ebi, Clover Ebi & James Ironwood, Clover Ebi & Robyn Hill, Marrow Amin & Clover Ebi, Marrow Amin/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: RWBY AUs [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948
Comments: 95
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been thinking about the film “Her” recently and decided to use it as a springboard for this fic. I’m also aiming for 1250 word chapters on the dot, since it’s been a while since I’ve been really harsh with long-fic word counts and I feel like being oddly precise right now. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

_-and I know that right now, the situation isn’t the easiest. I also know that no words will ever be able to convey just how much it pains me to be away from you at this moment, but we both know there is no way around it; I would never want to hold you back from achieving your dreams. That being said, please never forget that I may not be with you now, but I am waiting for you, always. When you’re finished with school, you have a home waiting for you. My home is with you._

_I love you. Be safe! Study hard! I’ll work hard too._

_Talk again soon,_

_Emily_

Clover sighed, pushing his keyboard away from him as his eyes roved over the screen for the nth time. He could not find any faults in the letter; it matched his client’s writing style and fulfilled all of her specifications perfectly. His heart skipped a beat. _But what if-_

Before his brain could trick him into anxiously rereading it, he sent it off to his client, only letting out his held breath once the icon indicated that she had received it. Only a few moments later, his inbox pinged, and he received a reply.

“She’s happy with it,” he sighed, relief easing some of the tight tension that had been building up in his broad shoulders all day. “I’m done.”

With that, he turned off his monitor and staggered to his feet. The moment the holoscreen collapsed, however, he was taken aback; without the shining lights from his work terminal, his entire living room was dark, the sun having long since set over the frigid snowy cityscape outside his window. The only lights illuminating his apartment came from the stovetop and microwave clocks in his kitchen, and the constantly shifting glow from the city’s traffic, colours flashing hundreds of feet below.

Cracking the kink in his neck, Clover grimaced as his bones creaked. _I need to work out some more,_ he thought bitterly, massaging his wrists. He had been doing nothing but sitting at his terminal as of late.

His Scroll began to beep in his pocket, so he pulled it out and answered the call, not bothering to look at the caller. “Hey, James,” he murmured, voice cracking slightly from disuse and fatigue. “What’s up?”

His boss’ voice was kind, knowing- already holding all the world’s wry exasperation within, James replied, “I’m still at the office. How did you know it was me?”

“…”

He could hear James sigh on the other end. “It could’ve been Winter calling, you know.”

“She respects work hours.”

An impatient click of the tongue. “Fair enough.” His voice grew kind. “And knowing you, you just finished writing despite your workday having ended _hours_ ago.”

Clover shrugged, ambling over to the large, floor-to-ceiling windows on shaky legs, numb after so many hours of sitting in the same office chair. “I work on commission.”

“You also need to _sleep,_ Clover. This isn’t like you.” The younger pursed his lips, biting back his frustration as James added, “You haven’t signed the papers yet, have you?”

No, of course he hadn’t; the only reason Clover wasn’t bothering to turn on the lights was because he knew exactly what he’d see upon the illuminated kitchen table: a stack of paperwork strewn haphazardly across the surface, covered in name-change documents and annulment forms and a singular pen that would sign the death warrant of his formerly-peaceful life. He didn’t want to look at them anymore, having already read them so many times over the past week that he could recite the fine print by heart far easier than any of the letters he had written for his work.

Finally, he croaked out, “The divorce won’t affect my writing, James. Give me time to work it out.”

The elder sounded worried, but not out of annoyance. “I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t worried about your performance, but… I’m more worried about you. Take some time off if you need-“

“I’d really rather not.” Having tasks to do every day was the only thing keeping him sane. He couldn’t give it up; how would he even function without routine?

After all, his job gave him the greatest gift of all: an escape. It was easier to forget the reality of the world crumbling around him when he had commissions to fulfill, when he had letters to pen between lovers, family members, employers to their workers; it was easier to forget that the only person he held dear was leaving him behind when he could write words of love and affection day-in, day-out, living out the lives of others vicariously. He had always loved his job for the happiness and peace of mind it brought those not as adept with the gift of writing vulnerably. Now, he _needed_ his job.

James let out another weary sigh. “You say that, but you missed our meeting today. Did you even remember it?”

Clover winced, picking up a glass of water from the living room table and taking a gulp. The water tasted old, stale; he couldn’t even remember when he had poured it. It was enough to quench his parched throat, however. “I’m sorry about that. I’ll set a reminder, okay?”

“No need.”

For a long second of pure silence on the other end, Clover heard his own heart fall to the floor, shattering. Was- was he going to lose his-

“I’ve sent you a little gift. It’s on me- go check it out.”

Flustered, Clover shuffled over to his terminal, his slippers swishing across cold, dusty hardwood. Flicking on the holoscreen once more, he opened up his messages, only to find a forwarded advertisement from James. “What is it?” he asked, squinting against the sudden bright light streaming into his face once more as he opened up the ad. Bold colours flashed out at him right away, product logos and price points and descriptions and reviews all a little too overwhelming for him at first glance. He paused, taking a look at the time- _no wonder it’s hard to read; when did it become so late?-_ before actually examining the main sale item itself. “…a personal assistant?”

“Yeah,” James murmured. “I thought it might be a good tool. The CEO of Polendina Enterprises is my old friend, and when he mentioned that they were launching a new product, I thought of you right away.”

“Why?” Clover couldn’t see anything that stuck out to him; nothing about this new artificially-intelligent personal assistant screamed, “I’d be perfect for someone who basically writes love letters for other people for a living”, so he wasn’t quite sure where this assessment was coming from.

“Apparently, this AI is the smartest in its class of products, and the speech patterns have been praised as being almost supernaturally human.”

“…okay?”

“When’s the last time you had someone around to just… _talk_ to everyday, Clover?”

He didn’t respond. He didn’t even want to think about it.

James murmured gently, “My point exactly. Try it out- the download using the code in the ad is free, so if you don’t like it, you can always delete it.”

“Fine.”

“Take care, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Winter should be sending you the next batch of clients tomorrow.”

Clover smiled, lips cracked, wan. “That sounds good.”

And with that, he ended the call, turned off his holoscreen again, and stumbled to his bed, far too cold and wide and for him alone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone sad because they're thinking this will end like "Her"... don't worry, it's about to deviate wildly, so rest assured :D

The download occurred far quicker than he would have expected, the new program opening up automatically with a thank-you page for the purchase. Clover took it all in with bleary eyes, still yawning as he nursed his cup of coffee slowly, the light from the rising sun barely filtering into his west-facing apartment. Burying his face into the blanket around his shoulders, he skimmed through the terms and conditions and clicked on his agreement so that he could begin the proper setup.

He didn’t know what to expect from this personal assistant software. Polendina Enterprises was well-known for its cutting-edge advancements in the field of AI, ever since the founder, Pietro Polendina, had managed to make his first truly sapient creature, P.E.N.N.Y.; Clover could still remember just how awed he had been at the lifelike interactions between the teenage-appearing android Penny and her creator, all the way when he was in high school.

He winced. He did not want to think of high school. Robyn had been with him when that demonstration had first hit the CCTS, streaming worldwide- perhaps it had been in their junior year math class, or maybe at lunch-

Shaking his head, he sipped more of his coffee, sighing as the beverage slid down his throat, calming his nerves slightly. He had a task to get done. After all, his Scroll’s screen was still alight from Winter’s email, waiting for him to open it and receive his new batch of clients. For a moment, in his weariness, anxiety struck his heart, his chest squeezing tightly as he thought of how late he would be with these letters- only to release that pain a second later as he finally looked over to the clock.

It was barely 5AM.

He hadn’t been sleeping well as of late. _Maybe it’s time to look for a single bed._

He could see the offending mattress just around the corner of his ajar bedroom door, but the mere thought of replacing it sent a wave of nausea over him. That could be a problem for a different day.

Finally reading the options upon the configuration screen, he paused, rereading the program description. _The Huntsman AIOS, the newest personal and home assistant technology, guaranteed to grow with you,_ he read, flipping through the product page once more. This was indeed the right product.

So why were all of the options given focusing on a character appearance?

Scrolling through each drop-down menu, Clover felt his heart constrict. Each of the options were so detailed, so precise, that he could, without a doubt, recreate someone’s visage whom he knew. If he wanted to, he could ostensibly create anyone to be this hologram which would control his life from then on.

His mind immediately wandered to his wife- ex- to his high school sweetheart; to her pale blonde hair and tan skin, pale eyes filled with ferocity and might and strength and cunning; to her tall, elegant frame and hidden strength; to her light voice, all confidence and enthusiasm for life.

He had not seen her smile in so, so long.

So, he did what he could. He scrolled through each menu carefully, looking down lists upon lists of options. His eyes were methodical, seeking the choices that would give him the visage of someone as unlike Robyn as he could muster, for he needed to forget.

After a while, however, his heart grew increasingly weary, strength leaving him. There were too many choices to make; colours, shapes, tones, sizes, clothing, styles, hair. He had never been fond of building characters such as this, and so to have to do so then was draining. Every single option led his mind back to her.

At the bottom of the configuration menu was an option for pre-sets. There was little willpower left in his bones, and it was barely six o’clock, so he let out a defeated sigh, tucked one knee up to his chest, and opened up that final sub-menu. Maybe he could just use something premade, and that would be enough to ease his pain.

Most of the premade options were feminine AIs, but a few at the bottom were apparently male. The last one on the list bore the strangest name- the _QROW_ model. Clover found himself strangely drawn to it. After six years of writing letters for people from across the world, interesting names were like gold to him, for he had seen too many run-of-the-mill monikers in his relatively short life. ‘Qrow’ was fresh, new.

When he loaded up the model, he sucked in a breath as the sample voice clip began to play as a test. “Welcome home, User. This is a test,” the voice called, all gruff, low tones, a crackling in its tone belonging to someone who had to have been a chain smoker or an alcoholic in the past; yet, there was something soothing about the baritone that rang through Clover’s apartment, sounding relaxed and casual and self-assured in a way that Clover had never heard before.

On instinct, Clover agreed without even looking at the design itself, for the voice alone was enough to be certain. He had wanted something different from Robyn. This was about as different as he could get.

The program began to load his chosen model, so he input his name at the prompt and pushed his rolling chair back from the terminal, standing up to refill his coffee. He was going to need another cup, and perhaps some food, if he wanted to make it through Winter’s list of clients; as the coffee brewed, he picked up his Scroll and read the names upon the spreadsheet alongside their requests.

Most of the clients were regulars. With a niche service like his, it was a little hard finding new clientele, after all; however, there was one new entry that day upon the sheet.

Strangely enough, there was only one name: Branwen. The return address betrayed no other personal information, either. Clover frowned, trepidation growing in his heart, for he had occasionally gotten mysterious clients such as this. The letters those customers wanted to send were never pleasant.

He did not have any more time to look at this new client list and their demands before the same voice from the test said, “Welcome home… Clover. I am Qrow, your new assistant.”

Putting down his Scroll, Clover shuffled around to look at the hologram projected from his work terminal. In the darkness of his living room- he had forgotten the lights again, he distantly realized at last- the image was crystal clear, the projection showing a man from the waist-up. With broad shoulders and a slight waist, the figure crossed its toned arms and turned to look at Clover, the motion accompanied by the tiny whirring of the camera upon the terminal as it moved to locate its owner.

Clover sucked in a quiet breath, locking green eyes with brilliant, dark red set underneath thin, neat brows. Dark, grey streaked hair matched the stubble lining a sharp chin, contrasting with pale, almost gaunt skin. Below the neck, there was very little visual detail, only the broad shapes of the holographic person glimmering in the light; however, from the neck upwards, it was almost terrifying, a life-sized man’s face staring back at him impassively. “You are Clover Ebi, the owner of this terminal.”

“Yes,” he breathed in response.

The hologram flashed a smile, teeth so white it almost hurt Clover’s eyes. “I look forward to working with you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Clover had expected a lot of things from this AI personal assistant. He had not expected _this._

The first twenty minutes had been calm, orderly. He had owned personal assistant AIs in the past, albeit simple ones; the questions coming through his apartment in that calm, husky voice all seemed similar to the ones his old programs had demanded, despite this new model’s complexity. The AI spoke stiffly, collecting data to help cement the rules of Clover’s household- or at least, whatever could be remotely _called_ ‘rules’. Clover wasn’t sure of what was going on, a little too intimidated by the surprisingly-handsome visage which seemed content to stare at the back of his head to actually look _back,_ instead focusing upon his coffee, a bowl of cereal, washing it all.

At least the questions were benign. “What does a day look like for you? What are the tasks you need to accomplish in any given day? Who are the primary contacts with whom you must communicate often? Of these, which are professional? Which are pleasure? Which are personal?” Clover was able to answer all of these by-the-book queries with straightforward answers; ever since Robyn had slapped the papers down upon the kitchen table, he had been following the same dismal routine, day in, day out. As long as his clients were happy, his apartment would be paid for and he would continue to live in peace, after all.

It was only when the AI asked, “What are you struggling to do in the day?” that Clover found himself lost for words. What _had_ he been struggling with?

Well, other than _everything?_

Slowly, he turned to face the projection. “Um… it’s complicated.”

“Elaborate.”

Wincing at the brusque, matter-of-fact tone of the AI, Clover shuffled forward and took a seat upon the couch, tapping his Scroll to change monitors. The hologram quickly moved over to the large entertainment system projecting at the side of his living room. Holding onto his warm mug with both hands which were already growing a little jittery thanks to the caffeine overdose, he murmured, “Sleeping has been rough.”

“Sleeping? I shall add alarms to remind you to prepare for bed and to wake up in time.”

“I’m not moving very much lately.”

“What is your preferred method of movement?” After Clover rattled off a few hobbies, the man nodded, expression just as calm as ever. “Alright, I shall schedule breaks into your workday. If you give me access to your accounts, I shall renew your gym membership, too.”

Clover nodded mutely, quickly changing the settings on his banking so the AI could order and purchase things for him. _At least I won’t have to avoid grocery shopping anymore,_ he thought wearily as he added in a new request of weekly necessities. _This thing can get it ordered for me._

“Anything else I can do?”

The man snorted despite himself. In a perfect world, some mail-to-order personal assistant would be able to fix what was going on- would be able to fix _him._

When he did not respond, the hologram repeated, “Anything else I can do?”

“…fix what’s wrong with my life _._ ”

For a long moment, the handsome man before him looked around, taking in the image of Clover’s dark apartment, the papers strewn across the kitchen table, the untouched shelves, the one bowl and one plate and one set of cutlery in the drying rack. Its slightly see-through red eyes took in the darkened room, the drawn blinds, the dusty surfaces. Then, the hologram murmured, “This… is not normal behaviour.”

Clover grimaced. “I’m going to get to work,” he muttered, knees creaking as he clambered back to his feet. “Can you open up my terminal?”

“…alright.”

Clover’s terminal lit back up once again, awakening from its slumber. He slipped into his chair, opening up his client list from his Scroll and opening up the requests. He had the classic clients; the Ghiras sending letters to their estranged daughter, unsure of whether she will ever reply; a young, words-shy man from Mistral sending letters to his girlfriend in Vale while she studies photography; the list carried on and on. Words flowed from his fingertips effortlessly, his mind retreating back into a place where he could easily pen any message.

There was always a sense of distance between him and the letters. If he paid too much attention to what was actually going on in his clients’ affairs, he might become invested. Halfway through writing a letter from a young woman to her best-friend-turned-crush (her pining was enough to make his heart hurt if he looked hard enough) he finally paused, leaning back in his chair. _Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad,_ he thought idly. _Maybe I should start getting invested._ Living out other peoples’ lives seemed a lot easier than what he was doing, after all.

To his surprise, a few hours in, the lights in the apartment all seemed to jolt on, illuminating the entire place for the first time in what felt like weeks. Clover winced, squinting against the lights which shone through layers upon layers of dust on every bulb. “What is…?”

“It is time to eat,” the AI announced, the hologram flicking back on upon his terminal. Its expression was neutral, pleasant to its core- and yet, there was something jarring, something unsettling about it. Something that felt too oddly… _knowing._

Clover pushed back away from his desk quickly, watching the AI’s actions with wide eyes, heart racing at the sudden reappearance of the voice. “Brothers, _please_ don’t pop up like that,” he gasped, hand clutching his chest. His ribcage seemed to ache from the jackhammer battering his lungs, the adrenaline slow to ease out of his system.

The hologram’s face twitched. Then, to Clover’s surprise, it muttered, “Okay. I’ll send a notification through before I appear next time. I did not program that-“ And then, it did the most curious thing. The hologram paused, projected face scrunching in what could only be called a pout, before muttering, “I _didn’t realize_ it would be a… bother.”

Clover blinked carefully at it, jaw dropping slowly. “You… what?”

“I didn’t realize it would- _rephrase,_ ” it muttered. “I was not aware that you would not want me to reappear suddenly. I shall program in a notification to light up before changes occur. Is that acceptable?”

Clover was well past caring about the lights, curiosity taking over more than anything. “You… you can rephrase things,” he breathed.

The hologram stared at him, visage neutral once again. “The Huntsman AIOS is meant to be adaptive to conversation.”

Before he knew it, he was shaking his head, more in awe than anything. _Adaptive to conversation is not muttering. It’s not pausing. It’s not recognizing miscommunication without direct commands to rephrase._ What in the world was this machine? “Why?”

After a moment, the AI responded, “To be more natural when communicating with our masters.”

“…so… I can teach you to talk?”

“Yes. Based on what you respond to… I’ll tailor my reactions accordingly.”

 _…it’s using contractions._ Clover quickly opened up the product page in his email once again, reading over the terms and conditions and specifications which he had skimmed the day before. This wasn’t a normal feature- how could it be doing this so quickly?

Then, an errant thought crossed his mind. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, right? “Would _you_ like to learn?”

“...Yes.”

It smiled, and Clover felt something alight within his heart. He smiled, too.


	4. Chapter 4

There was something deeply comforting in having Qrow around.

At first, Clover resisted the AI’s actions constantly. The PAOS was clearly far too aware for its own good, wreaking havoc upon the (admittedly miserable) routine in which Clover had been wallowing; by day two, Clover wanted to return the product, to erase the AI’s existence from his life.

Clover found himself waking up in the mornings with the sun to blinds automatically coming up without his request, allowing sunlight to stream into his apartment with no regard to Clover’s usual clime. The moment a room was deemed too dark, lights would flicker on, the radio playing in the background, filling him in on current events and pop culture, and at set hours of each day, every electronic was forced to go to sleep until Clover exited the apartment and visited the complex’s usually-empty gym. The coffee machine was always beeping loudly first thing in the morning, waiting for him to add fresh grounds. During mealtimes, his terminal would lock down until it was confirmed that he was either cooking or he was ordering delivery, and nothing would be allowed to progress until the dishes were put away and the trash sorted. He was even locked out of his apartment at one point until he agreed to get rid of the ample piles of boxes and containers he needed to recycle.

At first, Clover hated it all. It felt so invasive- an AI couldn’t possibly know what was good for him, right? Yet, as time passed, he started to feel a little better- brighter. Sleep definitely helped; Qrow ordered a cheap set of pillows to lay across the other side of the bed, restricting Clover’s space. It wasn’t the best solution, but it did work to help Clover feel a little less dauntingly alone. He even felt a little more engaged in writing his letters, working through his new list of clients at a pace that pleased even Winter and her picky scheduling.

However, the biggest factor in Clover’s acceptance of this new intrusion into his life was probably Qrow itself. The system was incredibly intelligent; it was fascinating to watch the hologram show more and more signs of awareness. Not only did it pick up new terminology instantly, it began to mimic Clover’s mannerisms, too.

What really amazed Clover, though, what happened after watching a film for the first time in what felt like years.

Qrow, oddly enough, remained on, watching the screen through translucent red eyes from behind Clover. Every once in a while, the system would ask, “Why is this character reacting this way? What is going on?” and Clover would have to explain, but he found that he didn’t mind; the characters within the film were surprisingly personable, and he found himself actually enjoying the film.

Robyn had never been one for theatre or film, after all. She had always been far too focused on reality- and for that, he respected her beyond the ends of the earth and back. It still was draining to deal with. As he watched the credits roll out at the end of the film, all he could do was lean back into his sofa, eyes fixated upon the ceiling as he wondered aloud, “When is the last time I actually watched a movie?”

“Your viewing log states it’s been three months, Clover.”

He sighed ruefully. “Thanks, Qrow.” He should have expected an answer.

And then, Qrow added, “You seem to be a fan of the protagonist.”

With a smile, Clover nodded. “I am. He’s very fun to watch.” The character had been all charm and wit, a kind of smooth, debonair charisma which Clover could only emulate in his letters, and not in real life. He had been engaging and amusing. “I admire that character.”

“Would you like to talk to that character, if he were real?”

It was an odd question, but Qrow was full of nothing but odd questions, always in the name of learning. “I wouldn’t mind, no. Seems like an interesting guy.”

And then, he had gone to bed, thinking nothing of it; yet, when he had arisen the next day to a bright bedroom, sunlight filtering in with no remorse as the automatic blinds retreated, he heard Qrow’s low, hoarse voice murmur, “Rise and shine, boy scout.”

Immediately, Clover was sitting upright in his bed, staring up at the projection watching him through the open door from the living room. “…what did you call me?” he asked, shocked.

The AI paused, blinking. “Boy scout. ‘Lucky charm’ is also a nickname which I have found-“

“Found _where_?!” Clover spluttered, stumbling out of bed to shuffle into the living room.

And then, to his surprise, the AI shrugged, tucking its hands into its pockets. A small, coy smile quirked its lips. “I analysed that character’s speech patterns and behaviour and integrated it into my own system to make our conversations more engaging for you, Clover. My search on the CCTS said that calling a man of your stature ‘babydoll’ wasn’t exactly appropriate, though, so I looked up alternate monikers for someone with the name ‘Clover’.”

Clover was absolutely speechless, burying his face in his hands.

“…Did you prefer ‘babydoll’-“

“No! No, no thank you,” he blushed, shivering as Qrow’s deep voice rumbled through his living room, carrying that pet name upon his lips. “The leading man used that term with his love interest. His romantic partner! Not anyone else. It’s- you don’t call people that unless you’re in… that kind of relationship.”

“But they were not always-“

“If you’re _interested_ in having that kind of relationship,” Clover corrected, already somehow tired. The coffee maker began beeping, so he automatically went over and set it up. He was not emotionally prepared to deal with this kind of conversation first thing in the morning.

“…Is that what you called Ms. Robyn Hill?”

He spun on his heel halfway through pouring his cup of coffee, wincing as it spilled onto the countertop. “Fuck- Qrow, you can’t just bring that up with someone-“

“You received a message last night. I silenced it so you could rest, but it’s from her lawyer.”

Clover deflated. “…I need to sign the paperwork soon, don’t I?”

Qrow nodded, clearly not following Clover’s rapidly-declining mood. “It may be best to tackle it today. You only have two clients left on your current worklist, and more days before the deadline, so it would be good to get it over with today-“

“I can’t!” Clover cried, slamming his hands onto the countertop. “I- I can’t.”

“…but why?”

The question was innocent. Perhaps that was why it hurt so much to not be able to have an answer; perhaps that was why he gripped onto the edge of the countertop, sinking down onto his haunches, pressing his forehead against cool wooden cabinets and metal handles because he _did not know why he couldn’t sign it._

He and Robyn hadn’t been together in so, so long. Why couldn’t he just let go?

He snorted. He knew exactly why. He had never been very good at dealing with change, after all- that was how he had ended up in a loveless, weary marriage in the first place. Because he couldn’t let go.

After a few moments of silence, he finally took in a deep breath and murmured, “Can you pull up my legal documents? I have a folder.”

Qrow didn’t ask any other questions that morning. He really did learn quickly.


	5. Chapter 5

“That should be it.”

“Thanks.” Her words were clipped, short- business-like and professional, as always. Manicured nails flipped through the paperwork in her hand, moving through each designated signature with meticulous attention, ready to catch any flaw.

Clover was not worried. He had gone through everything line-by-line the day before. It had left his heart completely drained, but it was done. And, without his request, Qrow had ordered him a surprisingly-delicious meal from a local eatery to ensure he ate dinner afterwards, and Clover had gone to bed with some semblance of peace in his heart.

Having Robyn standing before him now, however, made him feel empty, weary. How could he just pretend like paperwork would be the end of it? Handing it over meant that he was accepting the ending of _everything_.

She deserved getting that chance- a chance without him. They had never truly been right for one another, but familiarity and societal pressures were dangerous things. Still, he had always hoped that one day, they would _become_ right for one another. He loved her, after all.

According to her, though, it wasn’t what either of them needed.

Her pout of perfectly-overdrawn nude lipstick stood out against her tan skin, pale hair falling into her eyes for just a moment before she one-handedly clipped it away, as precise in her movements as ever. A smile lit up her face when she landed upon the final page. “About damn time, Ebi,” she teased, alto voice ringing proud and true through the air. “Glad to see you got it all done in between your letters.”

He rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter in an attempt to feign confidence. “Of course I got it done- when do I ever let things slip?”

Her eye twitched, but it was a rueful chuckle which spilled past her lips, not an angry one, as she handed it off to their overseeing lawyer standing politely to the side. “You’re right,” she said, dark eyes glazing over nostalgically. “You always did things well.” She paused, looking over his weary form, a hint of concern in her eyes. “Except eating properly, apparently. Take care of yourself, okay? I’m not here to leave leftovers in the fridge anymore.”

Clover brushed his hair back out of his eyes, smiling sheepishly at that as his heart began to ache yet again. “You say that, but who was the one who always cooked for you after work?”

The hard edge to Robyn’s face softened, and she let out a long, weary sigh. “Look, Clover,” she murmured, stepping closer to him, “you’re not a bad guy. You know that we just weren’t right, right?”

“…right.” He didn’t know- well, he sort of did. It was still a little too painful to try and pick it apart.

She clasped his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “We’re both still young! Go out there and find yourself a hot piece of ass for me, okay?”

He spluttered, leaving her chuckling.

Suddenly, a slight buzzing sound filled the air. Clover glanced over his shoulder, looking to Qrow’s shimmering, translucent form above his terminal. “What do you need, Qrow?”

Qrow didn’t respond, merely staring at Robyn for a long breath, inquisitive and analytical. Finally, Qrow murmured, “All of your clients except for the newest one responded with positive feedback. Once the final letter is done, I’ll send the automated letter to Miss Schnee- Winter, right?”

Clover beamed, nodding. “You’ve got it. Good work.”

Red eyes creased, oddly happy at the praise. “I should say the same to you, lucky charm.”

Clover immediately coughed, clearing his throat as he turned back to Robyn, silently sighing in relief when he heard the buzzing cut off, Qrow returning to his dormant sleep cycle.

The woman standing before him crossed her arms, watching him in disbelief. “’Lucky charm’?” she asked, baffled. “That’s certainly new.”

“It’s just- it’s a new AI assistant,” he explained clumsily. “It’s got a really good personality core and learns quickly.”

She deadpanned, then shook her head in disbelief. “You download an AI that you could make look however you want… and you choose a middle-aged chain smoker?”

 _He was the opposite of you,_ Clover whispered internally. He couldn’t say it, though.

Before she could retort further, the attorney gathered their attention, explaining the final procedures and what they needed to do. Mirth shone in Robyn’s eyes as they completed the procedure- Clover only hoped that he looked the same.

At the end of the day, however, it was time to part. One last box full of knickknacks and small, lingering items was put together, and Robyn Hill was free to leave the apartment at last. She took one final look at the apartment that had been their home together for the past few years, a fond glint in her eye. “No matter what, I’ll miss this place,” she murmured. “I… wasn’t exactly the best wife. Find someone better, okay?”

Clover leaned against the doorframe, wrapping his arms around himself awkwardly. “…you too, Robyn. You’ll always have a home here, even if we both… move on.” With a wistful grin, he added, “Atlas Academy buddies for life, right?”

She rolled her eyes and waved, turning the corner with her box tucked under her arm, following behind the attorney who held their separation papers. They were both officially single. Clover Ebi was alone.

The moment he stepped back into the apartment, closing the door behind him, Clover found himself leaning back against the door, sliding down to the floor, face in his hands. He was truly alone now. No family was tied to him on the register. He was just… there, floating, unchained, anchored to nothing but his letters-

Dimly, he thought, _I should get started on the new client’s request. That’ll be a good distraction._

He needed a distraction, now more than ever. And perhaps a new bed. Just… he needed _something._

Instantly, the lights in the apartment brightened, one of the previously-closed blinds rising to allow the midday sunlight to stream in, and the buzzing of Qrow’s projection began once more. “Clover? What’s the matter?” When Clover didn’t respond, Qrow continued, “There is a package that shall be arriving soon.”

That piqued Clover’s attention. Sniffling, he sighed, climbing awkwardly to his feet- it was clumsy, for he hadn’t worn anything but comfortable pyjamas and sweatpants in so long, and his slacks had grown uncomfortably large on him as of late, making it awkward to move. “I… I didn’t order anything.”

“I looked at your budget and, since you are severely under your spending budget, made the decision to order something for you.”

Clover gawped at the hologram, almost unsettled by the glint in Qrow’s eyes; yet, he was curious, too. “…you bought something for me?”

“You deserve it. It’s been hard on you lately. I hope you like it.”

That simple admission- that yes, it’s been hard, that Clover’s been struggling- made his knees wobble. He wasn’t weak. He was just human.

“Also, Clover?”

“Yes?” he hummed, mind reeling with the possibilities, for _what would an AI give as a gift-_

“I’m not an ‘it’- I’d prefer ‘he’.”

Clover walked up to his terminal, lingering grief put aside to take in those words properly. “…you identify?”

“As male.”

For some reason, those words made Clover’s heart _sing._ Leave it to Qrow to figure out a way to make him smile despite everything. “Okay. That sounds good, Qrow.”

Qrow smiled. Suddenly, his chest didn’t ache as much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is around 20 words over my limit. I'm too sleepy to care, though. Oh wellll

“You look puzzled. Something… is wrong.”

The storm shook the very foundations of the building, concrete and glass and metal all moaning as biting winds and raging rainfall attacked the windows in wide, all-encompassing sheets. It poured down his tall windows in a waterfall-like haze, so thick that the skyline was reduced to naught but faint neon blurs in the distance.

Why the skies had opened up the moment Robyn had left, he didn’t know. A younger version of Clover likely could have penned some heart-wrenching (teenage angst-filled) poetry for the occasion, for the irony of it all was too fitting, too on-the-nose. And yet, he found that he didn’t even think about the storm, about the way the wind caused glass to rattle and trees outside to scream as they fought with all their might against the force of the gales. His focus was placed entirely upon his monitor, after all. “No,” Clover breathed, reading over the request yet again. “I- I don’t think there’s an issue. I just…”

His eyes trailed across the lines over and over again, trying to make sense of it all. The details from this new client of his- this ‘Branwen’, whoever it was- were vague, although nothing seemed particularly harmful or odd. It was just miles away from anything he could have expected.

“Is there a reason to be concerned?”

Clover hummed, tracing the letters of each word into his thigh absently as he tried to grasp the tone required from the client. It wasn’t going to be a difficult letter to write; in fact, it likely wouldn’t take too long, considering one of the stipulations required that the message was kept to just one page. And yet, something about it felt off to Clover. “I don’t think so,” the man finally responded, flashing Qrow’s watchful eyes a wan, fatigued smile. “It shouldn’t be an issue. I’ll get down to work.”

Qrow smiled, crimson eyes flashing as his face mimicked Clover’s, flickering for a moment thanks to the rattling of the windows, the raging storm rocking powerlines. Clover felt his heart ease a little at that look; there was something so soothing about the handsome AI’s visage, although he couldn’t place it. Simply seeing Qrow look so confident all the time was reassurance enough for him, even if it was just a program.

Despite the precarious state of his electricity, Qrow remained intact as he looked over to the kitchen, paused, then turned back to Clover. “Coffee shall be ready in three minutes.”

Clover snorted, shaking his head wryly as he jotted down notes for what to include in this final request upon his list. “Thanks, Qrow,” he murmured. The way the AI always seemed to know what would help him still continued to amaze Clover.

“No problem.” Then, Qrow flickered away, leaving Clover time to fully immerse himself in the writing process.

Now that Qrow was gone, Clover could devote his attention to the task at hand: writing his final letter of this batch. The request was simple- just a recounting of the lives of two young women, it seemed. The idea of it was jarring. At the start, he had thought it was something illegal, or perhaps something perverted; after all, why else would someone have such detailed notes on what two adolescents were up to in their daily lives?

But as he began to write, it hit him. _This is a parent, isn’t it?_ Why would the client be asking him to write a letter that was clearly so personal? Who was the recipient? He had no idea what to even make of it all, for the letter’s addressee was nothing but ‘Brat’. That nickname didn’t reveal any information on who could be the intended reader.

Still, a job was a job, and as Clover poured himself a freshly-brewed cup of coffee and murmured thanks to Qrow’s eternally-listening microphone, he braced himself to step into the shoes of someone who seemed to adore two young women- ‘Firecracker’ and ‘the Kiddo’ respectively- like a parent, proudly reporting university entrances and early acceptances and anecdotes about the packing process.

It was sweet, in all honestly. As Clover wrote more and more, he became invested in a way he hadn’t in quite a while; the girls mentioned seemed like caring, gentle creatures, having far too much fun teasing family and friends about leaving home for the first time. Clover honestly found himself chuckling aloud as he went further down the bulleted list of antics Branwen had supplied him to add into the letter. Whoever these kids were, they were fun, at least.

That realization cause his heart to ache a little. It was always painful to see families separated. He wondered vaguely who the recipient could be- where they related to the girls? Were they just an old friend? Were they a parent?

What had caused the separation?

By the time he had finished up the letter with a silly, simple little _QB,_ the sun had long-since set. The clouds which had overtaken the skies began to clear, revealing a crescent moon which glittered in the post-storm haze, managing to overpower even the city lights.

Clover read over it once, twice, three times, then called for Qrow. “Could you send this off with the rest of them to Winter, please?” he asked wearily, leaning against the windowpane as he looked out into the oddly-serene night. His eyes followed a droplet of water which rolled down the window, creating an arcing path across the glass. In the reflection, he could see Qrow’s figure illuminate once again, the hologram’s light brightening the darkened room.

Within moments, the lights within his living room had turned on halfway, the gentle ambiance just dark enough to avoid hurting his eyes. “They’re all sent off,” Qrow reported, watching Clover with curious eyes.

Clover let out a long sigh, leaning his forehead against the glass. It was cool- painfully so.

“Are you alright?”

“It’s just… it’s been a long day, Qrow.”

“Due to your visit with Robyn?”

He winced. “Yeah.”

“…how can I help?”

Clover froze, heart stopping in his chest, breathing catching in his throat. Those four words had been spoken with such a startling amount of pure, undeniable vulnerability that Clover could have honestly believed the speaker was _human._

A chill ran down his spine. _Just how lifelike are these AIs?_ he wondered. _How does he know how to emulate heartache like that?_

But even in the reflection, Clover could see red watching him dolefully- devotedly, worry tugging thin lips in such an earnest fashion that he could scarcely breathe. His heart fluttered in his chest, for having such handsome, intense eyes on him-

Clover spluttered as he turned around, “I just need some time, Qrow. I’ll be okay!” He could feel his cheeks burning as he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing back his widow’s peak. “I just- I need some time. It’ll work out.”

It is only when he meets Qrow’s eyes, smiling properly at last, that the AI’s face melt into one of assured contentment. “Alright, Clover,” he hums, voice just as rough and husky as usual.

With that, Clover went to bed- not at peace, but knowing that he had done the best he could. With his work out of the way, he could finally allow himself to ponder what had occurred that day; now, Robyn was free. _He_ was free.

Perhaps it was time to begin again. _…maybe it won’t be that bad._

At least Qrow would be there to ease the transition. That thought made him feel just a little less lonely.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally come up with some semblance of a coherent plan for this fic. I can't wait to finish all my current FG stuff.

The face staring back at him in the mirror was so foreign that he could barely recognize it. It looked… clean. Handsome. Put-together.

Maybe he wasn’t as broken as he had thought.

Getting there had been a journey in itself. After he finally received all of the legal paperwork proving that he was no longer tied to Robyn in any way, he had fallen apart for a bit; without even a fresh list of letters to write, it had stung all the more, leaving him wallowing in his apartment for far longer than he would like to admit.

Thank goodness Qrow was there. The blinds were always opened bright and early, the coffee already freshly brewed by the time he clambered out of bed, and his alarms to remind him to go to the gym were always set right when he needed them; Qrow’s husky voice murmuring, “Good morning, lucky charm,” never ceased to make Clover snort and chuckle even in his lowest points, and the crimson eyes which took on more human-like qualities each day lightened his heart every time he saw them.

Qrow was still so eager to learn, after all. When Clover didn’t have work to do, still waiting on Winter to send the next client list, he was always able to occupy himself by sitting on the couch and showing the AI different series, films, books, and art. Qrow had all the questions in the world, and Clover was more than happy to curl up and respond to anything the AI wanted to know. Robyn had always been too strong, too confident and intelligent and self-assured to ever need him this much. It felt nice to be wanted like this, as pathetic as it may have been.

Listening to music was always Clover’s favourite thing to do with Qrow, though. Every single time, the AI analyzed the songs which made Clover happy, compiling playlists that could bring the man joy as he woke up each morning. Every single compilation was offered with hesitance, the light in Qrow’s eyes growing almost hopeful as he showed off his handiwork. “I’m not entirely sure yet what constitutes ‘good’,” he admitted each time, “but I think you’ll enjoy this.”

And Clover always did. A part of him wanted Qrow to sing along- he knew that Qrow’s husky baritone would suit crooning ballads far too well.

More than anything, though, Clover was just happy to not be alone anymore.

Even James saw the marked difference in his face when they met up for a drink a week after Robyn’s final departure. “You’re looking a lot better. Have you gotten back into the swing of things?” the elder asked.

Clover nodded, chuckling wryly. “I’ve got that PA to thank, honestly,” he laughed.

The worry which usually engrained itself into James’ face melted away, relief appearing in its stead. “That’s good to hear,” he said, taking a dry sip. “I’ll let Pietro know that the new models are being received well!”

Clover could only smile and nod at that, incredulity taking over his focus as James shifted to talk more about office politics and his own personal life. His thoughts were focused on the PAOS waiting for him at home, for suddenly, he was struck by the _silence_ left in Qrow’s wake, having spent the past few weeks so deeply entrenched in daily life alongside the handsome hologram. Since when had Qrow- an AI, of all things- slipped into his life so firmly? Since when had that rough voice, those teasing, yet curious eyes, taken such firm root in his daily routine?

It was a silly question. Clover knew as he shuffled back home after saying goodbye to James that he tended to focus upon that voice more than before, his mind engraining every growl, every raise and drop in pitch, every programmed breath and inflection and pause, into his memory. Qrow was an inextricable part of his life now.

After all, with Qrow’s voice awaiting him in the mornings, he didn’t even mind the large, empty mattress each night.

It was the day after going to see James when the doorbell rang, beginning this entire clumsy affair. Clover opened the door only to find a deliveryman standing with a box. He didn’t know what to make of it. “I haven’t ordered anything,” he murmured when he saw his own name at the top of the receipt.

“I did.”

He froze, glancing over his shoulder, finding Qrow grinning almost mischievously at him from the living room terminal. “Wait- wait, what?”

Qrow gestured towards the door. “I ordered it for you,” the AI murmured, his lopsided grin simultaneously eerie in its stiffness, yet inexplicably lifelike. “Trust me.”

Clover frowned, but signed the receipt anyways, grabbing the box and thanking the deliveryman. Once inside, he ripped away the packing tape, only to find clothes staring back at him. “You ordered…?”

“Clothes. For you,” Qrow replied easily. “When you went out with your supervisor yesterday, you weren’t exactly dressing up for the occasion.”

Clover winced, remembering the baggy hoodie and stained jeans he had thrown on before scurrying out the door. It had been far too long since he had properly left his apartment, and without feeling like he needed to impress anyone, he hadn’t bothered putting any effort into his appearance. “It wasn’t that bad,” he mumbled, picking up the classic white short-sleeve t-shirt and holding it up in front of him. The material was soft to the touch; he put it down, placing it upon the coffee table gently before removing a black leather jacket, jeans, and shoes. He was absolutely baffled as he looked over the full outfit, finally looking up at Qrow. He wasn’t upset- with his lack of spending in recent months since Robyn’s sudden decision to separate, he had been accumulating hefty savings, after all. “But… _why?_ ”

Qrow grinned, gesturing towards the clothes before tucking his hands into his pockets, just as Clover was wont to do when standing around. “You’ve gotta look nice when you go out. I’ve been looking into how people normally recover from separations, so…” He shrugged, so lifelike that Clover would have imagined it was a person standing before him if it hadn’t been for the translucency of his projection. “They say new clothes and going out and meeting people is a good way to start.”

“You say that as if I have plans.”

“You do,” Qrow replied easily. “Your date will begin at 7pm.”

And so, after hours of spluttering and demanding just when exactly Qrow had managed to set up a dating profile for him without his knowledge or consent, Clover was standing in the bathroom, staring at a healthier, more handsome visage than he had seen in months. He just felt _overwhelmed,_ utterly unsure of how to stay afloat now that Qrow was forcing him out of the apartment.

In his head, he knew it might be good for him. His heart was still terrified, though.

As he stepped out of the bathroom, however, those worries ceased as he saw Qrow’s face shift; crimson softened, his wry smile growing genuine, a softness entering his voice as he murmured, “You look handsome, boy scout.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” Clover mumbled, suddenly extremely self-aware.

Qrow shrugged, nonplussed as ever. “Nope. You enjoy them.”

He wasn’t wrong. Those few words lifted his confidence far higher than he had felt in months. Qrow called him ‘handsome’. Maybe Clover could be worth a damn to someone after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic! It lives! I've finally planned the rest of it out, so it should be picking up soon.
> 
> also, shoutout to the little _Way Off Track_ Easter egg I tossed in here because I'm tired. I've been in a solid low the past few days, so screw creativity, never heard of her

_Well… this isn’t going well._

Clover sighed, sipping his water as he peered at the young figure seated at the table across from him, their big blue eyes curious and engaged, sparkling almost as brightly as their smile. The ambiance of this small eatery was comfortable, warm; twinkling fairy lights strung up along the walls cast a cozy, almost ethereal glow across the room, the gentle candlelight emanating from each table adding that extra bit of magic. Couples seated across from one another shared food and laughter; everyone else seemed _happy._

Clover should have been happy. On all accounts, his date was wonderful- funny, attractive, sweet, welcoming. Not deterred by his recent divorce. Clearly looking for something more than just a fling.

But why, pray tell, had Qrow gotten him a date with a _man?!_

“So, Clover,” Marrow murmured, leaning forward with a playful grin, “tell me more about your clients! Your job seems so interesting.”

His smile was more forced than ever, but he was quick to turn it around on the younger. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Marrow?” he murmured in a tone of voice which he _hoped_ was inviting. He had never even considered dating a man before, so to see that _this_ was the kind of person Qrow had matched him up with (although, if he was being honest, he genuinely did think that Marrow was cute in all his wide-eyed, unabashed earnestness) was baffling, and he had no idea how to appear attractive to someone who clearly knew what they wanted despite their youth.

In reality, Clover’s words came out clumsy, but thankfully, Marrow took the bait; he leaned forward as they waited for their meal, happy to launch onto a tirade about his new job as a secretary for a small security technologies firm. If nothing else, Clover was grateful for Marrow’s enthusiasm, for it was far easier to smile and nod, asking engaging questions whenever there was a lull, than it was for Clover to figure out something meaningful to say about himself. What could he possibly say? _I just divorced my wife who’s probably far better off without me? I’ve been a mess for months since I found out she wanted to leave me? The only person I talk to regularly is an AI who sets my alarms- and makes dating profiles without me knowing- rather than an actual, living person?!_

Yet, somehow, Clover made it through dinner just fine. Marrow looked delighted, happily taking the bigger half of the desert which Clover had ordered for them; he ate with such gusto and relish that Clover felt full by merely looking at him. It was a gentle feeling, the warmth which spread across his body as he listened to the younger man express his emotions with a range that Clover could only ever find through writing.

But warmth did not equal desire, and by the end of the night, Clover was at a loss. In his head, he knew that the next step would be to either invite Marrow out again- he wouldn’t mind seeing the younger again, he was so sweet- or to invite him back to Clover’s apartment.

Marrow was a step ahead of him, shyly grabbing his hand as they stepped out of the eatery. “Should we,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together, “go to my place, or yours?” The elder had no time to respond as Marrow dragged him to the side, pulling Clover in for a kiss. The contact was brief, intense, passionate; Marrow moved with a skill and grace that was completely unexpected in comparison to his sweet demeanor, his blue eyes glittering in the evening light as they pulled apart, panting for air.

“What’s your pick, Clover? I’m happy with whatever,” Marrow beamed, the desire in his eyes the opposite of the innocence of his smile.

For a moment, Clover simply paused, taking a moment to get emotionally back to his feet. Then, as Marrow’s proposition finally sank into his brain, Clover blanched at the very thought of someone coming into his apartment, a sudden wave of emotion crashing over him with such torrential force that he could not even breathe. Someone else other than Robyn walking into the home he had shared with her- someone else in their _bed-_

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.

Sighing in frustration and shame, he swallowed back bitter tears which pricked the back of his eyes. “I- I’m sorry, Marrow,” he said softly. “If you’d like to meet up again, I’d be happy to get dinner, but-“

To his surprise, there was no anger on Marrow’s face; instead, the young man merely smiled, his exuberance fading, only to be replaced by a tender understanding. “That’s totally okay!” he replied, squeezing Clover’s hand before releasing it. The light from within the eatery shone out onto the street, causing his dark skin to almost glow gold as he added, “But be warned- I’m going to drag your little depressed heart out to eat with me some more, so you better get ready for that!”

The relief was palpable, tension draining from his shoulders instantly. He grinned, tucking his hands into his pockets, heart swelling with gratitude. “I’d like that,” he smiled.

And just like that, he walked the younger off to the station before heading back to his own home, cheeks flushed from embarrassment and flustered, unexpected want- who would have thought he wouldn’t mind a kiss from a man like this?- but his core was warm, thankful. The understanding in Marrow’s eyes was more than he could have ever hoped for, after all.

The moment he walked into his apartment, the PA system flickered on, holoscreens coming to life to project Qrow’s torso into the air. “So, how was it, Clover?” he asked, red eyes glinting with curiosity. “Where is your date? I was under the impression that dates usually continued in one party’s home after the dinner portion. Was something not to your liking?”

“No! No, it’s not that. He was great. I saw him to the station, then I came home, and that was that,” Clover replied, exhaustion finally setting in now that he was back in his warm apartment. He hung up his coat by the door as he added, “Besides, even if I did invite him over, what would we have done? I’ve never been with a man before.”

Strangely enough, Qrow’s face lit up in surprise. “Oh- really? I left your profile for everyone, as I thought you-“

“I’ve only ever been with Robyn,” he replied tiredly, shuffling into his bathroom to clean up for bed. The combined effort of having to get dressed up, to preparing mentally for dinner, to the actual date itself, had left him exhausted, and all he wanted to do was get back into bed. “We just ended up dating by chance in high school, and we never let go when we should’ve, I guess. I just-“ Clover sighed, running his hands through his hair. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Did it go well?”

Clover smiled, beaming at the image projected upon the terminal beside his bedroom door. “Yeah. He was a good guy. We even-“ Then, he flushed, suddenly recalling the intensity of their kiss at the end.

Qrow’s brow quirked upwards. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Clover breathed, mentally tamping down on a suddenly-conjured image of Marrow in his mind that was far from innocent; and, for the first time in months, that night, Clover felt desire. He didn’t want it in reality- the image of another in his apartment still left him feeling sick- but the _fantasy…_

He felt _alive._

And Qrow was to thank for it all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get inappropriate here a lil bit. Not explicit itself, but... clumsy (only mentioned, nothing shown) spice.

Marrow, as it turned out, was a sweeter person than Clover had given him credit for. Every weekend, the young man would drag Clover out of his apartment to different eateries, trying out different cuisines. At first, Clover was knocked completely off-guard- after all, Robyn had never been big on going out to eat, preferring the privacy of their home- but after a few trips, he found that there was something lovely about going on these innocent adventures with Marrow Amin. There were no expectations on these dinner dates; Marrow only wanted company and a listening ear, and Clover was more than able to provide that as his battered heart mended.

That didn’t change the way Marrow looked at him, however. Those pale blue eyes often landed upon Clover, dropping until they were half-lidded, peering up at him through full. Clover always found his mouth going dry, palms turning clammy, as he felt the intensity of Marrow’s stare; then, the younger would relax and beam, and it was like nothing had ever transpired. They both knew, however, and that knowledge was enough to cause his thoughts to linger upon the younger’s lips all the way home every time.

Perhaps this desire which Marrow so willingly projected onto Clover without overstepping their boundaries was the reason for his clumsiness. When the newest list of letters arrived and Clover was given purpose once again, the man found himself struggling to put words to the page, his ability to step into the shoes of his clients failing him for the first time since he had entered this profession. It wasn’t as if he had any new clients this time around, as all of the regulars popped up once again; to his surprise, his newest client, Branwen, also requested another letter to be sent to the same mysterious recipient. Even the sweet actions of the same girls as described by Branwen could not ease the worry that was beginning to plague Clover each day as he turned off his monitor. There was too much pent-up energy in his body, in his soul, for him to be able to focus.

“You’ve changed, Clover,” Qrow commented one day as Clover plopped down onto the sofa, ready to unwind a little. “Is something the matter?”

Clover froze, looking up only to find the hologram’s clear crimson eyes creased in worry. “Am… am I really? Since when?”

Qrow watched him for a moment, clearly processing something in the background. Then, he replied, “Since you began your outings with Marrow Amin. Are you alright?”

Immediately, Clover flushed. What was he supposed to say? That although he wasn’t truly interested in it, the idea that Marrow- that _anyone-_ could want him despite all of his mistakes had begun to knock his entire world off its axis? That he secretly longed for the intimacy he knew Marrow could provide, but at the same time was terrified of having another in his bed, of being vulnerable, of being seen by someone who could potentially _leave him_ again?

How could he explain to an AI that he _wanted,_ but that he was scared- scared that receiving anything at all would be enough to break him?

His thoughts flashed back to his earlier meeting with Marrow that evening, his entire body heating up as he remembered just how meticulous Marrow had been in helping Clover put on his coat, those long, dark fingers clinging on just a little too long for the touch to be considered friendly. God, how he wished those fingers would stay-

 _Cut it out,_ he chided himself. _I am_ not _going to lust after a friend._

His body was not listening to him, however, heat rushing through his veins far too quickly for him to cool down. After each meeting with Marrow, this wanton desire had been welling up in his body with more and more force- thus far, he had ignored it, or simply had taken care of it in the shower upon his return.

Now, however, he knew he needed a little more.

Groaning, he stood, shuffling to his bedroom. It had been months since he had truly felt desire, even longer since he had slept with Robyn; he still was not good at dealing with this resurgence in his gut. “Qrow, would you mind turning off your systems for a while? Or, at least the camera?” he asked sheepishly, setting himself down onto the bed. He picked up the bottle of water from his bedside, bringing it to his lips to take a sip. “I’d… um… like some privacy.”

“Ah,” Qrow hummed. “You’re going to masturbate, I assume?”

He was unable to control himself, spitting out his water as a strangled yelp slipped past his lips. “Wha- _Qrow, you don’t just ask that!_ ” he hissed. “Please don’t-“

“I’ve seen enough films to approximately understand,” Qrow chuckled, completely unfazed by this whole scenario. “It’s a perfectly natural thing, based on my research.”

Burying his head in his hands, Clover sighed. “Of _course_ you’ve been taking notes,” he grumbled, wiping up the mess of water with a tissue, wrinkling his nose. “Please don’t just discuss masturbation randomly.”

“I was watching films in the romance genre to help facilitate your relations,” Qrow explained, his usual kind, gentle smile returning to his face. “It’s been an enlightening experience.”

“Great, good, fantastic,” Clover said, looking at the projected man upon his wall exasperatedly. “Then you understand it’s something that should be done in private.”

“I’ve seen every part of your life, though- why is this different?”

 _I cannot believe I’m fighting my AI on whether he can watch me masturbate or not,_ Clover wanted to cry out. However, his need was pressing, his cheeks flushed, his desire mounting as they wasted time in this idle chatter-

 _It’s not like he’s_ here, his mind reasoned despite his common sense. _It’s not like he’ll be in the way._

Clover would still get to retain the sanctity of this bed- of his skin.

Letting out a long, weary sigh, he mumbled, “I don’t want to see the projection.”

Qrow’s eyes lit up, the spark of inquiry as clear as day on his face. “But I may leave the camera on?”

Dejectedly, Clover nodded. “No filming, no talking about it later. One time. Deal?”

The smile on Qrow’s face was far too innocent for the topic being discussed, his sweet, handsome visage melting in a perfect simulation of gratitude. “Of course, Clover.” And with that, the lights flickered off, the projection fading, leaving Clover alone in a dark room, his actions illuminated only by the light of the moon streaming in through the window.

For the first time in a long, long time, Clover found release that night. The next morning, he could see Qrow’s desire to ask him questions about it burning upon the tip of his tongue, but the AI followed the commands set in place before their transaction; for that, Clover was grateful. There was no way in hell Clover could ever explain that his wanton need, his cries of pleasure, his escalation and climax and downfall, had begun by thinking of Marrow’s kiss, Marrow’s touch, Marrow’s smile-

-and that it had ended with Clover’s eyes on the camera next to the projector mounted on his wall, the irrevocable knowledge that someone was _watching-_ that someone wanted to _see him_ as he came undone- that he _wasn’t alone,_ and that he was still _safe-_ being the final straw which had broken him, bringing him to a height he had never before experienced.

Qrow wouldn’t have even had to turn off the projection, as it turned out. Despite the humiliation it brought, Qrow’s handsome visage was painted eternally on the walls of Clover’s home, on the backs of his eyelids; due to those crimson eyes- that breathtaking smile, that gruff voice, that eternal comfort- Clover finally was able to sleep, spent, that night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just started a silly little fancast, **The Good Beans** , where I ramble about media that makes me happy. Check out episode 1 [here!](https://anchor.fm/faulty-paragon/episodes/The-Good-Beans-Episode-1---Kingdom-Hearts-2-Eternal-Summer-Vacation-enjorh) This pilot episode is about all my favourite aspects of KH2, one of my favourite video games- no experience with the series is required to understand what's going on lol. If you take a listen, let me know what you think!

He thought it would be only the one time- one moment of weakness where he allowed himself to let go of his sensibilities in order to simply _feel._ After all, Qrow said nothing of it the next day, his handsome expression just as kind, his voice just as gruff, his sweet smile just as gentle as ever. It almost felt like that hazy night was a dream, something which Clover could pass off as little more than a hallucination caused by months of loneliness, desperation and stress.

But then, it happened again.

He did not mean to allow himself to give in to Qrow’s curiosity. He simply wanted to destress, to relax- to get the image of Marrow’s lustful eyes out of his mind, to rid himself of this buildup of energy and want that had been suffocating him for so long. It was meant to be private. Quick. Dirty and done.

And yet, although in his head he knew he should have turned down Qrow’s quiet request to watch once again… when it came down to it, he _didn’t_.

The joy which blossomed across Qrow’s face echoed in Clover’s chest, the contentment caused from finally being enough for _someone_ bringing him the most peaceful rest he had gotten in far too long.

However, the morning after that second time was not easy. The moment he understood his error, he swore off any kinds of acts of pleasure. _I need to just focus on work,_ he told himself grimly for days, ignoring just how hot his ears burned each time he saw the neon glow of the holoscreens tinging his apartment walls. _We can just pretend this never happened._

He couldn’t ignore it, though. After all, Qrow’s question of, “You seem far more concentrated now. Did last night help?” when he was halfway done the next letter on his list made him completely lose track of the narrative voice of the message, sending his thoughts into a complete and utter disarray as he attempted to wrangle some semblance of calm back into his workspace.

But Qrow was always there. He was always helping. And even though he had seen Clover in his most vulnerable states, he never looked away.

…the nickname of _boy scout_ and _lucky charm_ made him want to simultaneously groan, and wince, and _melt,_ and he _hated it._ He hated how he could never tell Qrow to stop using them, too.

Over the next few weeks, however, he swore off any physical desires again, instead pouring all his energy into his work. It was embarrassing to admit just how much clearer his writing became after beginning his rendezvous with Marrow- after those few nights of pleasure on his own, using _(Qrow)_ Marrow’s visage to fuel him.

An odd thing that began to happen, however, as he began to write more and more. Although he had always enjoyed writing letters, something began to shift in the requests he began to get- namely, from one person in general. Winter did not seem to notice when Clover brought up the shift in Branwen’s notes to Clover in the request form, but after a brief analysis, Qrow also confirmed that the requests had begun to shift slightly. Where the notes had once been fairly impersonal, albeit amusing, thanks to the stories Clover was asked to convey with emotion to this unknown recipient, Clover found something new appearing at the end of the Additional Notes sections on each form.

 _‘Don’t include this,’_ Branwen began to add, ‘ _but thanks for doing such a good job. It means a lot to me, and I know it would to the girls, too.’_

While that tiny note of gratitude was innocuous enough, those messages began to evolve with each round of requests. ‘ _You should’ve seen Tai’s face when I showed him your letters,’_ they said one time, referring to the father of the two girls always discussed in the letters. Another time, they added, ‘ _You seem like a good person. Way better than me, anyways. Thanks for doing this always.’_

Clover didn’t understand- it was a paid service, after all- but what confused him the most was the fact that Branwen began to talk more about themselves, too, in these notes.

He was a man. Those two girls, Firecracker and the Kiddo, were not his children, but in fact, his nieces. He doted on them severely, with a kind of fervour that only the most protective of guardians could hold; however, based on the nonsensical stories Clover was to relay, it was clear that he still appreciated that role of being the more ‘fun’ uncle more than anything, causing no end of grief to their father Tai.

There was never any mention of a mother nor a partner. Clover often found his fingers hesitating to type the final send-off, wondering what would happen if he would add a little note of his own- who was the recipient of these letters? Why was Branwen talking about his nieces as if the recipient was far-off, when it was clear that he believed that the recipient loved these two girls more than anything?

He wanted to know more.

However, as it was, he could barely handle the discomfort lingering around his apartment every time he saw Qrow, so he did his best to simply do his work and nothing more. If he did ever end up asking more questions, James or Winter would find out in a heartbeat, and he refused to face the discomfort of having to explain his mixed sentiments towards this strangely-friendly client and his far-too-curious AIPA.

He wondered briefly whether it would be good to tell this to someone- just as quickly, however, those thoughts were drowned by the sheer humiliation. How in the world could he ever explain to _anyone_ that the only intimacy he had experienced as of late had been this voyeuristic situation between his _AI,_ of all things? How could he put to words that because of this overall lack of contact, he was debating crossing some of his own professional boundaries?

The first person to come to mind was Marrow. They still met every week, after all- and with Marrow’s clear interest in him, it wouldn’t be too difficult to broach the subject with him. The younger man was handsome and capable and kind, and he doubted that Marrow would even judge him too badly for the ridiculous confession. Even Qrow supported the idea, although the AI had little understanding of what was rendering Clover so flustered and uncomfortable at home. “He seems to be a good friend,” Qrow said repeatedly. “Why not share whatever’s bothering you? Isn’t that what friends do?”

 _Yes, but there are limits to everything,_ Clover always longed to reply. He couldn’t explain it though. He just _couldn’t._

However, even if he wanted to, he did not get a chance. One evening as Marrow and Clover wandered back to the station, Marrow suddenly hummed, “Y’know, Clover… I think we might want to stop this.”

His blood ran cold. “But- wait, you mean-“

“I like you, Clover. I do. But you don’t look at me the way you used to.” With a gentle smile that no one could possibly deserve, Marrow added, “You’ve found someone else, right? I’m happy for you!”

The rest of Marrow’s words fell on deaf ears, his mellow, soothing voice fading away into nothing while those words began to truly, finally sink in.

 _I think I should’ve been more assertive,_ Clover thought faintly as Marrow stepped forwards, pressing a gentle kiss upon Clover’s temple.

 _I should be stopping him,_ his mind offered as Marrow flashed him a toothy smile, the dimple in one dark cheek painfully endearing- painfully stark amidst the resignation in his eye.

 _…why aren’t I saying anything?_ Clover could not generate an answer for himself, even as Marrow tucked his hands into his pockets, turned on his heel, and walked away, the silent, unspoken words lingering heavily in the air. _There’s no one else, right? We’ve been friends for a few months now- I would’ve told him if that were the case-_

But Marrow was gone, and Clover was alone again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! I am so close to finishing all my FG content and I cannot wait, oh goodness

The humiliation which wracked his body without fail when he received a note from Branwen with his next request made Clover want to curl up under his duvet and disappear into the mattress forever. ‘ _This message seemed a bit sadder. Hope you’re doing alright.’_

What kind of professional was he, if his clients could deduce his personal business when his entire job was to remove himself from the equation entirely?

However, he understood completely where his vulnerability was being spotted. After all, this sudden loneliness left in the wake of Marrow’s resigned, regretful departure could not be ignored; every time he looked at his empty calendar, Clover’s heart seized in his chest, frustration and sour bitterness clogging his throat as he tried to brush it off. It never worked. He missed Marrow- missed his companionship, his laughter, his liveliness in the face of Clover’s awkwardness.

He missed feeling _wanted,_ too. He could not deny it; perhaps that is what caused shame to take him over the most, for it was too pathetic to think of just how much he desired those eyes upon him… and how he didn’t want to pursue anything more.

 _I wasn’t fair to him,_ he thought with a grimace tugging his mouth as he noted the day. It was a Friday, four weeks since he had last seen Marrow. A full month of being in his house, only leaving when Qrow urged him to go for a walk, to get some fresh air. Those trips were few and far between, however, for every corner of every street seemed to be stained with a memory of his friend; a restaurant they had gone to eat in here, a knickknack shop hidden in this alley, a clothing store Marrow had dragged him into on the other side of town. Everywhere was filled with his former tie with the younger man.

Still, at least Qrow respected his boundaries. Never again did the AI put his profile up as ‘available’ on any dating websites, leaving Clover to wallow as necessary. However, even that was uncomfortable; everywhere he went, Clover could feel Qrow’s eyes lingering upon him. More often than not, Clover found himself asking the AI to shut off the projection, to give Clover some solitude.

It wasn’t enough. Even when the projection wasn’t there, he could sense camera lenses following each movement. He knew that Qrow was always watching him, after all; how else would the lights always turn on, the coffee machine and kettle always ready when he needed it out of schedule, food he forgot to order arriving at his door and his work being submitted on time even when Clover fell asleep at his work monitor?

A part of him continued to wonder whether he should be frightened; in passing conversations with James and Winter about their own personal assistants, he found that neither of them gave such free reign to their AIOS, so Clover bit his tongue and spared them the details, lest they scold or fear for him.

Another part of him wondered whether this was what it was like to be loved. He ignored that thought. He did not need another pathetic tally to add to the lists of reasons why he felt like Robyn was right to leave him.

On the fifth Friday since Marrow’s goodbye, his presence in Clover’s home was more baffling than ever. The younger man knocked late in the evening upon Clover’s door, stumbling in when Clover opened it without hesitation; Clover’s heart swelled in relief, in worry, in longing for this face he has desperately missed, as he helped the drunken man stagger to his feet, guiding him to sit on the sofa. “What’s wrong, Marrow?” he asked, bringing over a glass of water to the other. “You… were you out tonight? Did something happened?”

Marrow shook his head, alcohol casting a rosy flush to the tips of his ears and his nose which stood out even through his darker skin. “I was with friends,” he slurred, “but I kinda missed you, Clo. Thought I should drop on by, ‘cause you- you probably weren’t going out tonight.” He giggled strangely, clearly out of sorts. Looking over Clover’s sweatpants and t-shirt, he added in a sing-song, “I was right!”

Clover sighed, but he could not find it within himself to be upset. There was something unbearably sweet about how happy Marrow was to see him. It was the first true human contact he had gotten in so long, and having him here in his home…

With a wry laugh, Clover said, “Okay, let’s get you home. C’mon.”

Pouting, the younger shook his head, although he did not resist Clover’s guiding hands when the elder helped him drink his water and brought him to his feet. “I want to hang out with you- it’s been so _long,_ Clover!” Suddenly, he froze, expression shifting to one of stark discomfort. “Wait, wait wait wait- did you get with the person you were into?”

“I wasn’t ‘into’ anyone, Mar-“

Pushing his shoulder with more force than necessary, Marrow cried, “No, you were! You liked someone more, right?” His pale blue eyes began to water slightly in his drunken haze, his lip wobbling as he whispered, “If ya don’t, then… why haven’t I seen you?”

“…You said we should end it.”

For a moment, Marrow was absolutely silent as he mulled over these words. Then, he said lowly, “Well, fuck it.”

Before Clover could stop him, strong arms wrapped around his neck, soft lips meeting his in a sloppy, clumsy kiss. Clover immediately buckled under Marrow’s weight, straining to stand the other man upright; however, with his head clouding from the first contact he had had in what feels like _years,_ his strength began to leave him, body aching for more.

Pulling away at last, Marrow grabbed his collar. “If you’re single, then let’s go,” he whispered hotly, more sober- yet headier- than he had been all evening.

Before Marrow could drag him into the bedroom, however, the lights suddenly all flickered on, one of the projectors whirring to life as Qrow’s figure filled the air. “Excuse me, Clover, but it wouldn’t be wise to do this with someone who is inebriated.” Turning to look at Marrow, he said plainly, “I would appreciate it if you headed home now, Mr. Amin.”

Marrow froze, his jaw dropping momentarily. Clover could scarcely breathe; Qrow had never before meddled with someone he knew like this, so to see the hologram appear like this- and with such a set in his jaw, a fire in his eyes that almost seemed _angry-_ was too much to comprehend. “Qrow, I-“ he tried to splutter.

He could not get a word out before Marrow threw his head back and laughed. “Clover, call off your AI, and let’s go,” he cheered, his shock replaced by his good humour.

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t touch him,” Qrow repeated, voice growing louder.

“What?” Marrow chuckled, shaking his head. “How’d you program your AI to be a watch dog? That’s good for robbers, I guess-“

“ _Don’t touch him._ ”

Clover and Marrow were glued to the spot, heads slowly turning to look at Qrow. His upper lip was curled into a sneer, red eyes flashing in distaste, brow furrowed and bitter.

A wave of shame crashed into Clover, so dizzying he could barely stay on his feet. What in the world was Qrow doing? Why was he stopping this- why was he so _angry?_

And why was Clover _happy_ about it?

Suddenly, all of the curiosity and humour drained away from Marrow’s face, any hints of a drunken stupor fading away as his skin grew waxy, pale. “Clover,” he breathed slowly, “there… you said there isn’t anyone, right?”

“There isn’t!” Clover protested, running his hands through his hair. “Just- look, Marrow-“

But Marrow’s gaze was fixated upon none other than Qrow, the younger staggering up to the projection to examine him fully. “…he’s pretty handsome, you know.”

Desperation gripped Clover’s soul with icy claws. “No, Marrow, I-“

Marrow raised his hands in surrender. “Your AI is really realistic, man. I- I don’t care if it’s a holoscreen, this thing’s _angry._ ” Unease dripped from every word. “I’m… I’ll head home now, okay?” And with that, he stumbled over to the door, waving goodbye with one final, “I’ll message you later, Clover,” before the door slammed shut behind him.

Clover slumped down onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. Oblivious to his turmoil- or, Clover realized darkly, perhaps he was keenly aware of it, after all- Qrow murmured, “I did not want you to make a mistake like that. Robyn did not know what she lost, Clover. Marrow did not know either when he left you till now.”

He let out a crumbling gasp in response. That is all his brain could generate.

Then, Qrow’s voice lowered, almost seductively so. “You seem to be aroused, lucky charm. Need a hand?”

He did not respond. All he could do was stand up, go into his bedroom, and lock his door, leaving the projection of Qrow outside. He knew that Qrow could easily reappear upon the projector inside his bedroom- that was the price to pay for a fully integrated system like his- but at the moment, he simply didn’t care, humiliation and frustration consuming him from head to toe.

Marrow’s eyes had been _horrified. He thinks I’m in love with Qrow,_ he repeated to himself in abject horror. _He thinks I’m in love with an AI, and he thinks I’m a freak for it._

That night was spent berating himself, locking in painful, untouched arousal and absolute self-loathing, for no matter how much he searched- and when he came out of his room the next morning, and Qrow appeared next to his work station with the words, “Good morning, handsome,” slipping from his lips with such ease it felt more than human- Clover could not find a hint of denial in regards to Marrow’s thoughts within himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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